A Dog's Life
by Zanza8
Summary: What if Arya and the Hound didn't walk away from the Eyrie? A story not exactly faithful to the books or the show, but my idea of what could have happened if the Hound brought the sisters together.
1. Chapter 1

_Prologue:_

"_Who would pass the Bloody Gate?"_

_The challenge rang out sharply and the Hound sent his answer back as strongly. "The bloody Hound! Sandor Clegane and his…" He looked down at Arya and she raised her eyebrows at him. What was she to him at this moment? He hesitated, then finished, "...traveling companion, Arya Stark, niece to your Lady Lysa Arryn."_

_The guard bowed his head for a moment. "Then I offer my condolences. Lady Arryn died three days ago."_

_The Hound froze, all his expectations so dashed that he couldn't react. Not so Arya. She burst out laughing, cackling really, and the guards all traded glances as she looked up at the big man by her side and then bent over, her laughter echoing around the pass. It was the looks on the guard's faces that brought the Hound out of his shock-their mingled disapproval and mounting anger at Arya's behavior caused him concern and he hissed at her, "Shut the fuck up." She gulped and put her hands over her mouth, still giggling, and he shook his head at her, then called up to the guards, "In that case we'll be on our way."_

"_That you will not," the head guard called back. "Lady Arryn is dead but her husband, Petyr Baelish, is Lord Protector of the Vale and will wish to see his wife's niece."_

_The Hound blanched and Arya, seeing his reaction, clenched her fists and yelled, "I don't wish to see him!" She pulled out Needle and brandished it, scowling up at the men on top of the gate._

_The guard motioned with his hand and the archers along the road bent their bows. "I don't care what becomes of your companion, Lady Stark, but come up to the Eyrie you must and will."_

"_Now you've done it," the Hound muttered. "Put that thing away."_

"_I'm not afraid of them!" said Arya defiantly._

"_Put it away, I tell you! We can't fight our way out of here-they'll shoot me and take you before we get ten feet." The Hound looked up at the guards as Arya reluctantly sheathed her sword. "We will come up." They started forward and he spoke with a quiet urgency that held the girl's full attention. "Littlefinger has no love for me and he has always craved money. He'll probably sell me to the Lannisters."_

"_Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?" she asked bitterly._

"_Keep your voice down!" The Hound looked apprehensively at the men opening the gate. "I don't expect you to feel anything for me but if he sells me, I want you to get away. Stick somebody with your pretty blade if you have to, but run as far and as fast as you can."_

"_Why?" His fear had communicated itself to Arya and she moved closer to him as they passed through the gate and it shut behind them._

"_Because he's not to be trusted. I know things about him...things I don't have time to tell you now. I've never lied to you, Arya. I want you to promise you'll leave if I'm not there to watch over you."_

_It was the use of her name that brought home to her the seriousness of the situation and she touched his hand briefly. "I promise, Sandor." Their eyes met, this first use of their names sealing the promise, and he nodded, then pulled on his collar, wincing. The wound on his neck was badly inflamed and Arya said sourly, "At least in the Eyrie there'll be a healer for your fleabite. If Littlefinger expects to sell anything but your corpse, he'll have to have that seen to."_

_The Hound shot the girl a black look but there was no time for further conversation as the personal guards of the Eyrie came forward and surrounded them._


	2. Chapter 2

They were brought into the High Hall and marched down the long room to stand in front of the weirwood throne. Petyr Baelish lounged in the ancient seat of the Arryns, a mocking half-smile on his face and at his side…

Arya's eyes widened at the sight of the tall redhead standing next to the throne. "Sansa!"

She ran forward as her sister hurried down the steps and then they were locked in each other's arms, tears streaming down both their faces. "I thought you were dead," Sansa said brokenly.

"And I heard that you were a prisoner in King's Landing." Arya pulled back from her sister and scanned her face. "There was a story that you married the Imp."

Sansa nodded miserably. "I had to-they gave me no choice, but Lord Baelish helped me to escape after Joffrey died." She shuddered at the memory. "He drank poison at his wedding feast and the queen accused me and Tyrion...they were going to execute me…" She clutched Arya again, sobbing on her sister's shoulder.

Baelish smiled broadly at the Hound. "You have done well to bring about such a tender reunion."

Sandor's jaw tightened and he maintained a surly silence, but Arya heard Baelish' remark and remembering the price on her companion's head, she said coldly, "The Hound brought me here in safety. What are you going to do to him?"

For the first time Sansa noticed the scarred man standing before the throne and she blinked in confusion as his dark eyes bored into her. Then he turned his attention back to Baelish, who was giving Arya a look of wide-eyed innocence. "I'm not going to do anything to him, child," the Lord Protector of the Vale said reassuringly. "I want only to reward him handsomely and send him on his way. Does that meet with your approval?"

"He needs a healer first," said Arya. The Hound glared at her and she glared back. "He has an infected wound on his neck."

"I don't need a healer," said the big man gruffly.

Sansa approached Sandor, twisting her hands. "Ser…"

"I'm not a knight," he snapped.

"I had forgotten," said the girl softly. "Forgive me...I only wanted to tell you we have good healers here. Please let them look at you."

The Hound cursed to himself. He had meant to ransom the little wolf to her kin and leave her in what safety the Eyrie could provide, and he was sure his life was not worth a grain of salt with Baelish in command, but there was the rub. Baelish ruled here, Lady Arryn was dead, and now there was not only the little wolf but the little bird to think of. He couldn't go now and leave them to the mercy of this whoremaster who had betrayed their father, no matter what happened to him. He sighed heavily. "Aye, I'll see your healer." He saw Arya smirk and he said fiercely, "But no fire!"


	3. Chapter 3

The Hound looked around the small room he had been assigned-a bed, a table and chair, a chest to hold clothes, and a window looking out on one of the most breathtaking views he had ever seen. The whole of the Vale lay under his eyes and he sat in the windowsill gazing over the fields and wishing he were out there, safely away from this place. No matter how beautiful it was, it was a trap that he didn't expect to escape from with his life and although that life had been a sad and bitter thing for almost as long as he could remember, he was not ready to surrender it yet.

His door opened and Arya darted in, followed more slowly by an old woman and two youths, one carrying a basket and the other pushing a brazier red with hot coals. Sansa brought up the rear. Sandor's eyes widened at this invasion but before he could say anything, Sansa came forward. "This is Morwen, the best healer in the Vale."

He didn't move from the windowsill. "I said no fire."

"The fire is for me, young man," said the healer with asperity. "Should you live long enough, you will find the cold bites into old bones."

"It's not that cold in here," said the Hound.

"It is to me!" Morwen was truly old, her face a mass of wrinkles, a mop of white hair floating around her body, her back bent, but Sandor could see that her features were very fine and he could imagine that once she must have been beautiful. She had the imperious manner of a beautiful woman as she gestured to the bed. "Now come over here and let me look at your neck."

Grumbling, he went over to the bed and sat down and she handed him a flask from the basket. "What is this?"

"Honeyed wine. It should help you relax."

The Hound grinned. "Aye, that it should." He drank it down in a couple of swallows, making a face at the taste. "Too much honey." He handed the flask back to the woman. "Well, get on with it."

Morwen smiled. "In a moment."

He looked at her suspiciously but he had trouble getting her face in focus. The room was blurring and spinning and he tried to stand, then started to fall. The youths with Morwen caught him, straining under his weight, and eased him onto the bed as she bent over him, lifting an eyelid and nodding with satisfaction.

"That was quicker than I expected. Of course he's half-starved and very sick…"

Arya grabbed the woman's arm. "What did you give him?"

Morwen straightened up. "Sweetsleep."

"Sweetsleep!" Sansa came over to the bed, appalled. "That's a poison! You'll kill him."

The old woman freed herself from Arya and patted Sansa reassuringly on the shoulder. "It's not a poison in very small doses. It just sends a person into a very deep sleep. And he needs to be asleep for this." She unlaced Sandor's shirt. "Do you see these red streaks running from the wound? This is a very bad infection-it needs to be thoroughly cleaned out and burned." She touched the scarred side of her patient's face. "It looks like he's suffered enough from fire in his life."

"He has," said Arya somberly. The healer looked at her quizzically but she shook her head. It wasn't for her to tell what the Hound had confided about his brother.

Morwen turned back to her patient and felt his face. "You should know there is a chance he may not live. There is a smell of rot and he has a fever. If this were his arm or his leg, I would take it off. As it is…"

"He _has_ been walking a lot slower." Arya stared down at the Hound, then said briskly, "I'm not worried. He's too strong to die from something like this."

"I hope you're right, girl." The healer took out several small knives and put them in the coals, then started cutting the stitches on Sandor's neck. "Did he do this himself?"

"I did it." Arya frowned. "He wouldn't let me burn it, but he let me wash it out and stitch it."

Morwen picked out the last of the threads. "You did a good job." The small knives were glowing red and she wrapped a cloth around one of them and lifted it from the fire. "This won't be pleasant. You girls should leave now."

"No." Sansa regarded Sandor with a troubled expression. "He always protected me in King's Landing. I want to stay."

Arya took her sister's hand. "I'm staying too."


	4. Chapter 4

Sansa was sitting on the balcony of her pretty chamber when Arya came in without knocking and brought a chair over to sit next to her sister. "What are we going to do now, Sansa?"

"What do you mean?"

The younger girl looked around, then leaned closer and whispered, "We can't stay here. The Hound said we can't trust Littlefinger."

Sansa frowned. "Lord Baelish saved me when the queen would have had me executed. I have no reason to distrust him."

"And I have no reason to distrust the Hound," said Arya stubbornly. "He saved me when Robb and Mother…"

The older girl took her sister's hands. "Were you there when it happened?"

Arya nodded, choking on unshed tears, and Sansa put her arms around her sister until the younger girl was able to go on. "I wanted to kill Walder Frey...I was going to run right into the hall, but the Hound took me away. And he kept me safe all the way here. He may be the worst shit in the Seven Kingdoms…"

"Arya!"

The younger girl ignored her sister's exclamation of outrage. "...but he's the only friend I had in the world. He could have sold me to the Lannisters or the Freys, but he kept trying to bring me back to my family. I even took him off my list."

"List?" asked Sansa.

Arya felt guilty about mentioning the list-she didn't want her sister to know she had a list of people she was planning to kill. She remembered her bravado about sword fighting when they were together with their father in King's Landing, but it was different now that she really was a killer. It wasn't something she wanted to brag about to Sansa. Somehow being with her sister reminded her of the girl she used to be, the one without blood on her hands, the one who hadn't seen her father die and her brother's body with the head of his wolf in place of his own. Tears threatened again but she forced them back and spoke resolutely. "You can do what you want, but I'm not staying here with Lord Baelish. Once the Hound is better, I'm leaving with him."

Sansa was still thinking about what Arya had said long after her sister left. There were questions that only Sandor Clegane could answer, and once the evening meal was done, she stole off to his room. One of Morwen's assistants was sitting with him and Sansa asked softly, "How is he?"

"About as well as can be expected, my lady," said the boy. "His fever is worse but the infection is draining. My mistress thinks there is a good chance he will recover very soon."

"So he's not going to die?" Sansa felt a surge of happiness she was unable to account for but had no wish to deny, and the assistant smiled at the look on her face.

"It would seem so, my lady. If you would like to sit with him…"

"Oh, yes!" The girl heard the excitement in her voice and said coolly, "That is, if you have no objection I will take a turn with him."

"Of course, my lady." Morwen's assistant went to the door. "I shall return in an hour. If he wakes and is in pain, give him the watered wine."

Sansa took the chair by Sandor's bed, breathing a silent prayer to the Mother. He was sleeping, his hair fallen in tangles over his face and she brushed it back, then wrung out a cloth in a bowl of water. Turning back to him, she was disconcerted to find his eyes, bright with fever, open and fixed on her face.

"What in the Seven Hells are you doing here?" he whispered.

She wiped his face and tried to smile. "I wanted to see how you were doing. I know you are not a knight, but you were the noblest of them all in King's Landing." His face was like a thundercloud as she finished softly, "I should have gone with you when you left."

"Aye, you should have." His voice was faint, but bitter. "You wouldn't leave with me but Lord Baelish...that's a different story. It doesn't matter what he did, all you care about is his pretty face and his pretty ways…"

His voice trailed away and Sansa leaned over him. "What did Lord Baelish do?" There was no response and Sansa took the Hound's hand. "Sandor, tell me. What did he do?"

The Hound sighed, his eyes wandering around the room. "What does it matter now? He betrayed Ned Stark...held a knife to his throat and turned him over to the queen…" He looked up at Sansa. "Is there anything to drink?"

She was in shock over his revelation but she poured a cup of watered wine and helped him drink, then wiped his face again and watched him fall asleep, her mind in turmoil. Could it possibly be true that Petyr Baelish was responsible for her father's death? Or was it just the rambling of a sick man who didn't know what he was saying? She wanted to question Sandor further, but he didn't wake again before the young assistant returned and she had to leave the Hound to his restless dreams.


End file.
